Wipe The Slate Clean
by Breech Loader
Summary: Meg hates her family, and she's going to give them what they have coming. It doesn't help that Brian's feeling suicidal. But if there's anywhere you can make a fresh start, it's Mexico - if they can get there alive. Will there be any survivors?
1. Everybody Gets Killed

Wipe The Slate Clean

By Breech Loader

* * *

Breech: I never could stand how Meg gets treated in the show and I know I'm not the only one. So when Meg finally snaps, everybody gets exactly what's coming to them. It's hardly a spoiler to say that this 'episode' contains a killing spree.

* * *

"_Mom, why does nobody even pretend that I exist?"_

"_Dad, don't you even remember how old I am?"_

"_How am I supposed to get any attention around here?"_

Meg Griffin looked at the cold metal object she held in her hands. Those had been the questions she had once asked. She was done with those questions now. Her family never noticed her; never gave a shit about what she'd done or what she was doing.

So that had made it all the easier to buy a shotgun licence, then a shotgun, and going to the shooting range four times a week. Then buy her passport, and plan her journey to Mexico. It was premeditated murder. Definitely. She'd given it a lot of thought and planning. Six months of serious planning.

Well, one person had noticed. Slightly. He was actually noticing her not being there. Oh, he didn't follow her; he was too goddamn self-absorbed to bother doing that, but he noticed.

And he called her by her name. And he'd remembered her 18th birthday. He hadn't actually bought her anything, but he'd at least commented on it, unlike anybody else.

That made her frown, wondering what to do about him. He usually only gave a shit about himself and his own, frequently hypocritical beliefs, and a martini, but Brian... Brian, the drunk, beat-up, stoned, self-absorbed prick that he usually was, had actually been acting as if she existed.

But she knew what she was going to do, and nothing, and nobody, was going to get in her way.

She headed downstairs.

* * *

Brian Griffin, family dog, sat in his room and shakily filled up his pint-glass with vodka. The bottle rattled on the edge of the glass as his hand shook slightly. Then he lit up a blunt. None of it made him feel any better, but most of it was out of habit anyway.

_I'm a bastard,_ he thought. Okay, so he didn't believe in God. Which meant there was nothing to make him go to Hell. But suppose He did exist? Then very soon, Brian would be going to Hell to meet His counterpart.

_My life is a worthless pile of shit,_ he thought. _I don't even really believe the crap I'm always spewing at everybody._ Well, right now he was so drunk and stoned that in less than half-an-hour he'd be spewing more than shit.

He reached into a desk drawer and, fumbling slightly from all the drink he'd consumed that evening, pulled out the metal device, and stared at it.

Guns. What amazing contraptions. The first device man had created for the sole function of killing. It could be used for nothing else. It had no other purpose. He felt a little sick knowing that.

He tried to think straight. Was there any reason not to do this? Peter, Lois, Stewie, Chris, and Meg, would any of them care? Was he just a dog to them? Did he matter at all? In the near-infinity of the universe, what did his dumb opinions change? They changed nothing, that's what.

Quahog listened to a speech or two of his, then went on its merry, stupid way just like it always did.

Peter never, ever stopped being stupid, no matter how many times Brian tried to get him to think sanely.

Lois would never, ever love him.

Chris barely noticed him.

And Stewie – well, the less said about a baby who dreamed about killing his own mother, the better. Once, Stewie had been Brian's friend. Then Brian had just... gone his own way. And that just led to him being alone.

He placed the handgun to his head, squeezed shut his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot echoed through the house.

* * *

"Everybody on the couch!" Meg fired a shot into the ceiling as her family hesitated, then pointed the shotgun back at them sitting around the table. Some plaster floated down, "RIGHT NOW!" she screamed.

"Sweetie, what are you doing?" Lois asked her daughter, trying not to scream. She readied a kung-fu stance.

Meg pumped her shotgun, ejecting the empty shell and chambering a new one, and aimed at Lois, "Don't even think about it, Mom," she warned her mother softly, "I've been practicing with this baby for six months at the shooting range now. You'd be dead before you hit the floor."

"Oh, oh, blow her head off right now!" Stewie enthused.

"Since when did you know how to handle a gun?" Peter asked her.

"Since when did you give a shit about what I do?" Meg asked him, "On the couch. All four of you."

To her immense satisfaction, her family got up and walked into the living room, and sat on the couch, with her using the shotgun as a gentle guide all the way. Peter, Chris and Lois sat on the couch; Stewie sat on Lois' knee. Meg stood a few paces in front of them.

"Now, don't move," Meg warned them all, "There's one of me, and four of you. So that means I'm four times more likely to shoot one of you than one of you is to get to me before I fire, and who knows which one it will be?"

"Lois, oh I pick Lois!" Stewie grinned.

"Shut up, Stewie!" Meg aimed at him, "You're not the only one who can get some attention!"

"Don't hurt my babies!" Lois begged automatically, "Please, sugar-pops, kill me, but don't hurt Stewie or Chris!"

"Don't you worry about them, Lois," Meg smiled sardonically, "Not just yet. Now, I'm not going to tell you how many shells I've got for this gun, but I will tell you it's more than enough to kill everybody in this house. We're going to play a game..."

"Yay?" Chris asked, as the shotgun hovered for a moment over his head.

Meg took a step back, the gun still steady in her grip. She'd been practicing for this moment for months, and it had been all she could do not to act before she was ready, "The object of the game is to give me a damn good reason why I shouldn't kill you. The prize is not dying. And I'm going to give you all a tip – the answer is _not,_ 'because I'm your father, mother, or brother'. Do you really think I'd be pointing a shotgun at you if I hadn't thought of that?"

"Brian isn't here," Lois pointed out, "This is... a real family occasion. He should be here-"

"Oh, and you want me to go look for him?" Meg laughed, "Or maybe you could go run to fetch him yourself? Brian's in his room, drunk off his head. I checked on him, even if you don't. I'll deal with him soon enough."

"Honey, maybe you should give me the gun?" Peter asked her.

"Dad... do you really think I'm as stupid as you?" Meg asked, "Just for that, Peter, Daddy, the man who used my money to buy a tank, you're up first. Why shouldn't I kill you?"

"Because I'm your dad?" Peter suggested stupidly the very answer she had told him wouldn't work.

The shotgun blast blew his head right off, and splattered blood and brains all over the back of the couch.

"PETER!" Lois scrambled to get over to Peter, as his body slumped in the chair.

"DON'T MOVE!" Meg shouted, aiming at her mother, and pumping the shotgun again, then softened her voice, "Don't move. Stay right where you are, Mom. That's one down, three to go. Who wants to go next?" there was a long silence, "Well, if you won't choose, I will. Chris, my dear brother. I'm smarter than you. I might not be hot, but I'm hotter than you, at least. And yet I'm the one who gets all the abuse. You laugh with them, at me. You just... go along with the crowd. Why shouldn't I kill you?"

"No, sweetie!" Lois wailed, "You don't need to do-" she froze up as Meg pointed the shotgun at her again.

"Mom, I was really hoping to be able to kill you last," Meg warned her, "But if you start messing me around once more, I guess I won't get to do that. Stay where you are. If Chris is such a great son, he'll be able to think of a reason for me not to kill him."

Chris stared down the barrel of the shotgun, "Shouldn't you be, like, pumping the shotgun all the time?" he asked her, remembering the movies he'd seen.

"And waste perfectly good cartridges?" Meg laughed, "Weren't you listening when I said I've been practicing with this thing? Chris, among other things, you tried to set me up with a date with an evil monkey. _Give me a reason not to kill you_," she repeated slowly.

Chris swallowed. Well, at least he was smarter than Dad, actually thinking about his answer, "I, uh..." he scratched his head, "Well, I _tried_ to get you a date for your prom, Stacy," he whined.

"Fat, ugly, _and_ stupid," Meg said softly. She fired again, and Chris' head went all over the couch, also taking a chunk of the stuffing out of it.

Lois screamed again, and Stewie just grinned.

"Now," Meg pumped the shotgun a third time, and aimed it at Lois, "Two down, two to go," she told Lois. "Mom, I quit loving you when you started suggesting I get some attention by killing myself. You know how I said I wanted to kill you last? Well, I guess I lied. But you're smart, Lois. Can you give me a reason to spare your life?"

"Oh, blow her head off right now!" Stewie begged.

Lois swallowed, staring down the end of a shotgun, "Oh sweetie-pie, I know you're very angry," she managed to Meg, nudging it down so that it was at least not aimed directly at her face.

"You worked that out all by yourself, Mom?" Meg's two-handed grip didn't loosen one bit.

"You've killed Peter, and Chris... " tears were welling up in Lois' eyes as she continued, "Don't you feel sorry about that in the slightest?"

"No, Mom," Meg said, her face expressionless, "Don't suggest I'm crazy. That would suggest I didn't know exactly what I am doing right now."

Lois clutched Stewie, "Don't destroy this family any more. Don't kill me or Stewie too. You're not thinking straight, but if you'll just put down that gun... we can go out into the woods and bury the bodies, mother and daughter. It'll be okay! All you have to do is not kill me! You'll get all the attention you ever needed! This isn't what you really want!"

"Oh, but it is," Meg replied, "I've wanted this for ten years now."

She fired, blowing a hole right through her mother's chest. Lois stared at her, living for a few more seconds as she tried to see some form of remorse in her daughter's eyes. She found none.

"All right!" Stewie pumped a little fist into the air.

Meg pumped the shotgun, "Well, Stewie?" she aimed at her smallest brother, "My little crack-baby. It's your turn. Persuade me not to kill you. It's really quite simple. Even a baby should be able to work it out. Of course..." she gestured to the three dead bodies on the couch, "They couldn't."

"You're a dab hand with that shotgun," Stewie told her, "With my brains, and your muscle, and all the equipment I've got upstairs, we could easily rule the world!" he looked at the others, "You've just killed your family! I know you've got it in you to be my trusted Second-In-Command!"

Meg seemed almost to consider this for a moment, but then shook her head, "Wrong answer, Stewie. I didn't kill them so I could rule the world, or get rich, or anything like that. You can't even work out why I killed them. Which makes you just like them."

Stewie opened his mouth to protest, just before the shot hit him in the chest, scattering blood all over Lois' corpse. Meg nodded in satisfaction, smiling very slightly. Now there was only one more person to take care of.

"Meg?" she turned, to look at Brian staggering down the stairs. He stumbled on the last step, and tripped, falling right on his ass. In one hand he was holding an empty bottle of vodka. In the other, a handgun, "Meg... you're dead too? What're you doin'... in hell?" he slurred.

"I'm not dead, Brian," Meg reloaded the shotgun rapidly and prepared it to fire, watching that handgun carefully. Brian was even more drunk than he had been an hour ago when she'd looked in on him; who knew what he might try and do with it?

"You gotta be..." he slurred, trying to stand, and pointing the gun at his head again, "I pointed this gun... at my head, and I fired, and I heard this big bang... so I gotta be dead..." He pulled the trigger again. There was an empty *click*.

"Not with the safety on, you won't be," Meg told him, mockingly.

"Safety?" Brian looked at the gun drunkenly, "Oh yeah, nearly forgot..." he took off the safety, and aimed at his head again. He fired again. Once again there was an empty *click*.

"And cock it too, you idiot," Meg stepped forward quickly and grabbed the gun out of Brian's hands, pressing the release mechanism for the magazine and throwing the gun aside, "Look, Peter, Lois, Chris and Stewie are _dead_. The bang you heard must have been one of the shots I fired."

Brian looked, bleary-eyed, around her at the couch with four dead humans on it. Then at the shotgun in Meg's hands. Drunk and depressed as he was, he could tell who had just done it. He tried to find a part of him that cared, and wanted to scream at her, 'What have you done?' but he couldn't find it in him, "You killed them, Meg," he slurred.

"Yes," Meg replied, aiming the shotgun at him, "And now Brian, I'm going to finish the job, and kill you. Unless you can come up with a damn good reason why I shouldn't. _They_ couldn't."

Brian looked up at the gun for a long time, "I... I can't," he said finally, before vomiting quite a large amount of vodka onto the carpet, "I mean... I've tried to be there for you... tried to make the others get it... but I didn't really... didn't try enough... didn't bother with anybody's feelings but mine... didn't help anybody... didn't change anything..." he lay his head back against the staircase, "I'm such a bastard..."

Meg maintained her grip, the shotgun still aimed at Brian.

"I'm pathetic... I'm so fucking pathetic that I'm too fucking drunk to even kill myself... so you might as well do it, Meg..." Brian began to cry. It really was quite pathetic to watch, "Just... put a shell through my head already," he told her.

Several seconds passed, and yet no shells seemed to be forthcoming, "No, I don't think I will, just yet," Meg said thoughtfully.

"Why not? 'Cus I'm more miserable this way?" Brian asked her despondently, "I let them hurt you... I watched them make a mockery of your existance... I went along with it because it was easier than trying to do anything... I'm such a fucking hypocrite... Oh god Meg... I'm so sorry..." he slurred.

Meg lowered the shotgun and holstered it, "Apology accepted," she told him, her voice softening.

"Wh-What?" Brian looked up at her, confused.

"That was all I wanted to hear from any one of them," Meg pointed to the bodies, "All they had to say was that they were sorry for all the pain they'd caused me. But they couldn't say it, even with a loaded shotgun at their heads. They didn't believe they'd ever done anything to me that was worth being sorry for..."

Brian sobered up a little, "You... killed them because they didn't say they were sorry?" he slurred.

"No," Meg told him, "I killed them because of all the emotional abuse over the course of 18 years. Don't feel too great, Brian. I got a load of crap from you too."

"Yeah... I guess I'm sorry about that..." Brian slurred, "But... it couldn't have been just... I mean, it could have... I mean, why not kill me too?"

"Because you just said sorry," Meg told him, "And because you noticed when I was going out to the shooting range – you didn't know where I was going but you noticed I wasn't here. And you called me by my name. Half the time Peter and Lois didn't even bother calling me by my name."

"I just wanted to die," Brian mumbled. He looked at the empty bottle of vodka in his hand, and threw it across the room, where it smashed against a wall, "It doesn't matter... if I live or die... Just fire the gun, Meg."

"You're drunk, _and_ you're stoned," Meg told him, "I don't know if it will make you feel any better, but _I_ care if you live or die. I won't kill you if you admit that doesn't make you feel better. I'm used to my opinions not mattering too, you know."

Brian looked at her, "You know," he slurred, "It sounds crazy but I think that does make me feel a little better. But... the bodies... the cops... What're you gonna do now?"

"I spent six months planning this," Meg told Brian, "Since the day everybody forgot my 18th birthday – except you. I'm packed. I've been saving money for years. And I'm driving non-stop to Laredo, on the Mexican border, tonight," she offered him her hand, "Do you wanna come?"

Brian looked at Meg's hand. He looked at the room, with four dead bodies, a smashed bottle of vodka, and a congealing pool of his own vomit. He looked at himself. He'd just tried to kill himself at least three times tonight. And been at the wrong end of a shotgun that had already killed four people. And he was still alive. He looked up at Meg.

Okay, so she wasn't as stunningly beautiful as Lois or some of the other women he'd dated. And she wasn't some kind of super-genius. But still... she'd just wiped out his old life. The one that had been dragging him around in circles for years. Wasn't this was what he'd wanted to do with his suicide – to get away from this place? Did he really want to go with Meg, who was now a multiple murderer?

He took her hand, staggering to his feet, "I... I'd forgotten you could drive," he commented drunkenly.

"There's a lot about me you don't know, Brian," Meg replied with a small smile. The _old_ Meg would never have come up with a clever remark like that. There was something different about her now – and not just the shotgun holstered at her hip.

"Mexico, here we come," Brian returned.

* * *

Breech: Ha! Meg and Brian, the show's two biggest Butt Monkeys, now on their way to Mexico, leaving four dead bodies behind them! This could be just a one-shot, or I could continue it. If people want me to continue, I will. However, continuing this fic will probably result in Meg/Brian.

And if I do continue it, I have several dandy ideas to increase the fun they have on their way.


	2. Quick Exit

Wipe The Slate Clean

By Breech Loader

* * *

Breech: Well, damn, I forgot to say I don't own Family Guy. I mean, it's so freaking obvious that I don't; I kinda forget to say it. Well, the continuation was asked for, so here goes... And we all know what Meg is capable of when she goes crazy, but I assure you that this time she's perfectly sane. I remind you, six months of planning...

Or does that make her less sane? I'm not sure.

Well, it sure makes it premeditated.

* * *

Chapter Two: Quick Exit

"So now what?" Brian slurred as Meg walked upstairs with him following her, "You've just killed your entire family. People are always calling around; Joe, Quagmire, Mort, Death..."

"Now I haul all my packed stuff into the car," Meg replied, "Since you're coming too, you might want to pack some stuff. Unless you want to wear my clothes..." she smiled dryly.

"I still can't believe what you did down there," Brian said quietly, "I mean, I know you've gone crazy before, like when you got out of prison, but-"

"_Never_ call me crazy, Brian," Meg warned him, "I went kinda crazy way back then, and you helped me. But this time I know exactly what I'm doing. This time I've got a plan. You can step out of the plan any time you want, and I won't blame you. I mean, I did engineer the plan with the expectation of you not being in it, what with being dead."

"If I did step out, I'd have to call the cops," Brian pointed out.

"You couldn't," Meg replied, "I cut the phone wires and smashed all the cell-phones before I even went into the kitchen. Also, I'd have to handcuff you to something, to get myself a head-start. Nothing personal - and considering everything else that happened tonight, that actually means something."

"I guess this time you really are sane," Brian said quietly, "And I went crazy... trying to kill myself. Thanks for... for stopping me. And giving me a chance to realise what I really want, and to find it. Even if it is in Mexico," he paused, "Hey, Meg, I've got an idea – see, Stewie, he..."

"_Please,_ Brian," Meg told him, "I'd rather not talk about Stewie. He was just a baby..."

"No, Meg, he wasn't _just_ a baby," Brian told her, "He was an evil genius. He hated Lois, and he saw the rest of us as lower than pond scum. You know how Lois was always tripping over things and having accidents? Those weren't accidents. Stewie _wanted_ her to die."

"You're still stoned, aren't you, Brian," Meg said drolly.

"Drunk and stoned I may still be, but I wasn't blind or deaf," Brian replied, "I can prove it!" He pushed open the door to Stewie's room, and walked over to the toy cabinet.

"Freeze, dog-pile!" Stewie's head popped up over a small chair, pointing a strange gun at Brian. He instantly put his hands in the air. He didn't know what the gun was meant to do, but he'd bet that Stewie knew and it wouldn't be nice.

Meg drew her ready shotgun and aimed it at Stewie's grossly large head, gripping with both hands like a professional, "Jesus Christ, Stewie you're dead! I just killed you!" she gasped, "What the hell are you doing here? And alive?"

It occurred to Stewie that he was pointing his gun at the wrong person. He nearly turned to point at Meg instead, but realised she'd probably shoot him instantly if she thought he was a threat. And she must do, if she was aiming at him, "Well Megan, what you actually shot was an android," he told her, "I've got a few of them, programmed to respond appropriately. Like when you shot Lois."

"Good grief..." Brian muttered.

"What the hell for?" Meg asked, wondering if maybe Brian had snuck some hallucinogens into her food.

"Decoys. Alibis. For eating broccoli. That sort of thing," Stewie replied, "So nobody can pin Lois' death on me. That one downstairs... that was a prototype. With a little camera in it. And it saw what you did, Megan. And let me just tell you, that I'm very proud of you. It's just a shame you killed Lois before I could. Now drop the gun, or Brian is toast."

"If Brian ends up as toast, you'll end up as jam," Meg replied, "He was telling the truth – you _are_ evil! But hey, I'm going to ask you the same question I asked the others – why should I spare your life? You've had one chance to answer right already, so I'm being generous here."

"Uh, guys?" Brian asked, "Don't anybody shoot anybody just yet; I'm just gonna be sick again..." And he was. He looked up to see both Meg and Stewie looking at him disgustedly, "God but I'm _pathetic..._" he moaned, slumping to sit on the floor and lean back against the wall.

"Oooh, he's like Mardi Gras, anthromorphised as a dog!" Stewie laughed.

Meg returned her gaze to Stewie, glaring, "Shut up, Stewie," she told him, "I asked you a question. Why shouldn't I kill you?"

"Well, I could say I'm sorry for all the times I've called you an ugly little skank," Stewie told her, his finger still on the trigger, "But it wouldn't actually be true, and I'd only be saying it because I heard Brian saying he's sorry. And I could make the same offer I made downstairs, but that didn't work last time..."

Meg nodded as if to say, 'go on', though her grip didn't loosen on the shotgun, "I don't want to rule the world, Stewie," she agreed.

"So I'm going to call you out you on the time you called me your crack-baby and got me addicted to pancakes to make some extra money," Stewie reminded her, "You owe me, Megan. So take me with you to Mexico!"

"You've given me some good reasons not to kill you, Stewie," Meg admitted, "But why should I burden myself with a baby? Why shouldn't I just leave you here to be taken away by Social Services, and be handed over to Grandma Thelma or something?" she challenged him.

Stewie made a face at the idea of that, "Because you'll need me. Everybody feels sorry for a teenage single mother, remember? And you'll need my brains too. Brian, show her the stash," he ordered the family dog.

Brian reached up and, after a couple of tries, pressed a concealed button. The toy cabinet opened up to show dozens of amazing weapons and technologies. Meg stared for a long moment, then glared at Stewie, "I told you Stewie, I don't want to rule the world. I just want to start over."

"And so do I!" Stewie told her, "I want out of this dump! Now take me with you to Mexico, bitch, or so help me I'll throw a tantrum so loud even God will come over to check if I'm okay!"

It was a stupid threat – if he tried throwing a tantrum his grotesquely large head would be smeared all over the wall. But Meg relaxed her aim just a little, "Drop the gun, and we've got a deal," she agreed. Stewie put down the gun, "You've made your point," she conceded, "But there is no way you're taking all that crap with you," she nodded at the cupboard, "It's bad enough that now I need to pack for a baby as well. You can take three things from your toy cupboard, and that's final."

"God, now Lois is dead you're already sounding like her!" Stewie whined.

"You want me to sound like somebody else?" Meg asked him with a mild glare, raising the shotgun again a little. She holstered it calmly, "We're starting again. All three of us. Now pack, or you'll be left behind." She walked over to Brian and pulled him to his feet, "You too, Brian. If you're coming, pack."

Brian shrugged at Stewie, "It's your call, Stu," he told him. There was still a pretty thick slur to his voice, "Mexico with Meg, or foster care? I'm packing now."

He left the room with Meg, and went into his room, where he began packing a suitcase, filling it with clothes and money, or substitutes for money, his favourite red ball and cigarettes. Should he pull out? He was pretty sure Meg meant it when she said he could pull out and he'd live. If he went with her, he'd be leaving behind...

What, exactly? Oh sure, he could stay, but what exactly did he have in Quahog? His writing career? Writing a few articles on his dumb hypocritical opinions – only about half of which got published – and frequently having to date a girl on the editorial team to get them published? That wasn't a writing career. That was a writing joke. Everybody in Quahog knew him too well to take him seriously. He couldn't make his 'fresh start' here.

He packed his laptop in with his clothes. Technically he could have used it to contact the cops and get Meg arrested before she got out of the state, but he didn't care. He wanted to try for a new life with Meg. And Stewie. Maybe he'd change his mind when the weed wore off and he sobered up, but right now he just wanted to leave.

Finally he stared at his latest attempt at a novel. Stewie had been right, in a way. He had no idea of where he was going with it. With a quick movement, he tore the sheaf of papers in half, and dumped them all into his wastepaper basket. Then he looked at his various 'awards'. He swept the entire shelf of them into the wastepaper basket too. Just because he didn't have the trophies didn't mean he hadn't won them.

Stewie stared at his toy cupboard, "Just three?" he asked Rupert, "It's so hard to choose..." He watched Meg walk past his bedroom with bumper-size packs of diapers in her left hand. The shotgun was still holstered at her right hip.

"Don't try anything stupid, Stewie," she told him, patting the shotgun, "Otherwise, you won't get to see Mexico – or even tomorrow morning."

Okay, so she didn't want to run the world right now, but maybe in say, ten years time, she'd make the perfect candidate for his Second In Command. Stewie picked three of his most deadly weapons off the shelves, and packed them in the suitcase. One of them was a toy phone.

By now, Meg had almost finished packing all of her suitcases into the car. She'd grabbed Peter and Lois' wallets too. Like all stupid people, Peter couldn't remember a four-digit number and had actually written it on a little piece of paper. And she knew Lois' number already.

While their cards were still valid – i.e. before her parents were found dead - she planned to get as much money out of them as possible. Preferably cash. She guessed she had about 24 to 48 hours before they were cancelled. The car would be passing a gas station on their way out of Quahog, where Meg planned to fill up on petrol and stock up on food supplies. She planned to stop as little as possible on her way to Laredo, Mexico, except for the purposes of maxing out her parents' credit limits.

First things first – gun safety. With a shell chambered, the shotgun wasn't safe, obviously, and she didn't want Brian to try anything stupid again after his previous terrible attempt at taking his own life. She pumped the shotgun until it was empty, then checked it as her instructors at the firing range had taught her. Yep, now it was safe. She picked up the unused shells and pocketed them.

Brian left the house and approached her, two suitcases in hand, "Wow, you really did plan this out, huh?" he asked her, looking at the packed car.

"Yup," Meg threw Brian's cases in the trunk of the car, "And I gotta admit – I'm glad I'm not travelling alone, Brian," she told him, "Even if it does make it a little tougher. I knew that if anybody in the world had it in them to say sorry for hurting me, it would be you."

"Meg, I... I gotta know," Brian told her suddenly, looking up at her, "If I hadn't said all that stuff about me being a self-absorbed hypocrite... and that I was sorry... would you have killed me too?"

"Yes," Meg admitted, "I mean, it would have been tougher than the others because you had a gun to your head and you were acting so..."

"Pathetic?" Brian suggested despondently.

"Yeah," Meg agreed, "But you _did_ say the right things – when you were drunk and stoned too, so I know that you meant it. And you finally admitted that you are a hypocrite, so I figured that you could change. I guess I still see something in you worth saving."

"Oh, Meg," Brian slurred, tears welling up in his eyes, and hugged her. Meg bent down and hugged him back, patting him on his head, "Thankyou!"

Meg walked around the car and opened the passengers' door. He was about to get in when he felt Stewie poke his leg.

"Your tail is wagging," Stewie smirked.

"So?" Brian slurred, "I'm just... happy, yeah." He tried to ignore the smug look Stewie was giving him, and climbed into the passenger seat, "I guess I'm in no fit state to drive," he commented to Meg.

"You guessed right," Meg agreed, "The last thing we want tonight, is to be pulled over by cops." Stewie toddled over, and Meg put him in the baby seat in the back, buckling him in safely with Rupert, "I'm taking you with me, because I might need you," she said quietly, "I'm not your mom, and I don't expect you to ever see me as one. But I think _you_," she tapped his nose, "need me more."

"Ha!" Stewie laughed, "Brian, for once this bitch is actually talking with her brains and not her balls! What did you _do_ to her when you were on the wrong end of that shotgun?"

Brian shrugged and looked at Meg, watching her get into the car, "I told her the truth," he admitted.

"You two should get some sleep now," Meg told them both, starting the car, "I won't be making many stops."

"But I'm not sleepy!" Stewie whined, "I want to discuss killing techniques with you, Meg! I never realised you could be such a cold-blooded kill-" Meg slotted a tape into the tape player, and a song played through the car.

"_Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?_

_Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full..."_

Meg smiled as Stewie fell asleep in about thirty seconds. Within another ten minutes, Brian had also fallen asleep and was snoring gently. It was going to be a long drive to Laredo, Mexico.

* * *

Breech: Well, Stewie is still alive. Because Stewie is also interesting, not because he's nice. It's a long way to Laredo, Mexico (yes, I know I said Tijuana but I changed my mind - Laredo is closer and also a big place) and anything could happen on the way in the manner of shotguns, possibly finding a way to get Brian to wear a tux, and maybe I'll bring Lois back to kill her again. I mean, we're gonna need an antagonist here and I hate her most...


	3. The Morning After

Wipe The Slate Clean

By Breech Loader

* * *

Breech: Okay, so when Brian agreed to go with Meg he was drunk and stoned. What reaction will there be now that he's got a clear head? Will he still survive? Also, sorry I took such a long time putting up this third chapter.

* * *

Chapter Three: The Morning After

When Brian woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the terrible hangover he had. The second thing he noticed was that he was in a car. The third thing he noticed was that the radio was playing some Elton John. The fourth thing he noticed was that Meg was driving the car.

Okay, what had happened last night? He'd gotten drunk, then stoned... it started to get fuzzy after that.

"Meg?" he asked her.

"Yeah, Brian?" she asked him, her eyes on the road.

"What exactly happened last night?" he asked her, "Because I... well, I'm in this car with you, and there's Stewie behind us..." he made a face, "Where are we?"

"We've left Quahog and Rhode Island, and now we're driving through Connecticut," Meg told him, "I stopped about an hour ago to use Peter and Lois' credit cards, so we're stocked on food, gas, ammo and cash."

"Wait, wait... what did we do last night?" Brian asked her, "Just _how_ drunk was I?"

"Oooh, Meg! Tell him a lie! A really good one!" Stewie demanded, "Something about you two having sex! It's the closest you're going to get!"

"_Did_ we do something?" Brian asked Meg, starting to get worried.

"Shut up, Stewie!" Meg snapped at the baby, "No, Brian, we did not have sex. Firstly, you were so drunk that you tried to blow your head off," she told him, "And so stoned, that you couldn't even prep the gun for firing right, let alone fuck somebody. I stopped you from actually succeeding. Gas station coffee?"

"Well, uh... I have been contemplating ending my own life a lot recently. I mean... a lot..." Brian took the cardboard cup of coffee and took a sip, making a face at the dreadful taste. Then he looked in the back of the car, which was filled with shopping bags, "So what else happened?"

"Well, I also killed Peter, Lois, Chris and Stewie," Meg told him again, patting the shotgun at her hip.

Brian spewed his coffee out, "You WHAT?" he managed. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that he knew all this, but if he thought back to last night, there was also a wide plethora of coloured lights, "But... Stewie's right there!" he pointed.

"Yeah, I know," Meg half-smiled, "Turns out the thing I originally shot was an android, and Stewie was an evil baby just like you've always said but... hey, just like you, he persuaded me not to kill him."

"Okay... so why am I here?" Brian asked her.

"You agreed to come with me," Meg reminded him grimly, "For a new start."

"A new start..." Brian mused, "You killed your family to get a new start?"

"Hey, for eighteen years they treated me like scum, and you weren't much better!" Meg shouted at him.

"STOP THE CAR!" Brian shouted back. To his surprise, Meg pulled over into a lay-by. He climbed out, "If you killed Peter and Lois and Chris for treating you like scum, and I wasn't any better, and lord knows I'm a prick sometimes, then why am I still alive?"

"Work it out for yourself!" Meg leapt out of the car, grabbed her shotgun and loaded a shell, then chambered the round, "You were drunk and stoned when you gave me a reason last night! Can you work it out when you're sober? _Give me a reason not to kill you..._" she whispered, taking off the safety.

"I... I really tried to kill myself last night?" Brian clarified with her.

"Yeah," Meg nodded.

"You stopped me?" he continued.

"Uh-huh."

"When you had a shotgun to my head?" he finished.

"Are you going to give me a reason or not, Brian?" Meg growled softly.

Brian stared up at the barrel of the gun. It was amazing how clear his head was right now. Maybe it was the gun, or just that godawful coffee... "I... I'm supposed to think of a reason... for you to not kill me..." he sat by the roadside, "But I can't. You killed the others but I must have thought of something I'd done to get you to spare my life... as if it matters..." he muttered, "But I can't even remember what it was..."

"Oooh, kill him now!" Stewie begged Meg, "Go ahead, that worthless mutt leaves better excuses for his prolonged survival in tightly-coiled piles on the lawn!"

Brian sat down by the roadside, "God, he's right," he moaned, "I _don't_ have any reasons for you to let me live. I don't even have any decent reasons to continue my own life anyway."

"No, no, don't get like that!" Stewie interrupted, "Beg for your life! Like you did last night! That's what saved you! Come on, squirm! That's what Meg really wants, isn't it?" he asked Meg.

"You have no idea of what I want, Stewie," Meg told him, without switching her gaze from Brian.

"I don't want to squirm!" Brian snapped at Stewie, then back at Meg, "I hate my life... I hate everyone... I hate everything! And you know what? When you say I wanted to kill myself, I believe you! It's not like I haven't considered killing myself before!" he took a deep breath, "But since you're about to blow my head off, I might as well say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't think of a reason for you not to kill me. I'm sorry for all the times I've been a bastard, and a hypocrite, and a burden. And..." he looked up at Meg, "I'm sorry... really sorry... for all the times I've hurt you, whether I did it on purpose or I was just drunk at the time. Just get it over with quickly..." he closed his eyes tightly.

"DAMN!" Stewie screamed from the car.

Meg smiled and holstered the gun again, "I guess you really did mean it," she said simply, "Apology accepted. Again. Well, Brian? It's your choice. You've sobered up, so now you can make the choice straight. Do you want to come with me to Mexico?"

"What if I say no?" Brian checked.

"Then it's a long walk back to Quahog," Meg replied, "Oh, and I'll handcuff you to a signpost. That one," she pointed to a signpost, "But that's all, I promise. I'll even leave you with your luggage."

Brian looked down. He couldn't remember why he'd chosen to go with Meg when he was stoned, but he'd managed to keep her from killing him twice, by accident, so maybe if he just came out with the first thing he thought, it would be the same.

"You killed everybody else?" he checked again.

"Yeah. And I've been using their credit cards all night, and will do so until their bodies get found or I max out the limits," Meg confirmed.

Brian kept thinking. He really ought to care more. But Peter had been such an asshole lately – even more of one than him. Chris was practically not there, and Lois was such a hateful slut and a bitch – even to Meg, her own daughter. Why'd he wanted to kill himself? Because he hated his life, that was why.

Suicide? Hot damn but he must have been so stoned... or not so stoned. A couple of months ago, with only a glass or two of martini in him, he remembered jamming Peter's shotgun under his jaw and pulling the trigger. Several clicks later he'd found out that the gun hadn't been loaded, and had given up.

"You're going to Mexico for a fresh start?" he asked, and looked behind her, "With Stewie?"

"Well, if you don't want to come with me, I won't blame you," Meg sighed, "I mean, half the time I was driving I figured it was only because you were so out of it that you said yes at all..." her face fell, "Although if you don't come, I figure I'd rather do this on my own than go alone with Stewie, so you'll have to deal with him – at least until Social Services comes along."

"WHAT?" Stewie screamed, "You can't leave me with Fido there! I mean, jesus, he spends most of his life with his nose buried firmly between his thighs! Just like Lois!"

"WHAT?" Brian yelled, "But I'm a fucking ASSHOLE! And a dog! You can't leave me alone with a baby! Especially not Stewie!"

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to travel with somebody as ugly as me," Meg replied, "So I didn't bother to buy cigarettes or booze. It's not like you haven't got family in Los Angeles. And technically you haven't committed a crime."

Brian sighed, "As if everybody in LA doesn't know me too – for all the _wrong_ reasons," he replied, "There's no future for me there," He continued to look at Meg, "You know Meg... you're not ugly," he said finally.

"Ha! Everybody says that, right before they throw it back in my face," Meg replied, "Peter was especially good at it."

Brian shrugged. He didn't blame Meg for her low self-esteem at all. It wasn't like he hadn't helped to contribute to it, "So, I'll just get back in the car," he said calmly, walking back to the passenger's seat, "Unless you want some rest from driving?" he suggested.

Meg hesitated, _Do I trust him to drive?_ she wondered.

"For what it's worth, Peter and Lois were both assholes," Brian told her, "Not just to you, either."

"Okay, you can drive," Meg told him, "But I'm _not_ going back to Quahog. You can call the cops, you can stop the car and get out, but if you try to take me back there..." she patted her shotgun, before getting in the passenger seat.

"Fair deal, navigator," Brian got in the driver's seat.

"Ahem," they became aware of a foul stench, and looked at Stewie, "I hate to interrupt this moment, but I've just soiled myself, possibly because of how disgustingly emotional you two are being, and, well... as my current legal guardian Meg, it's now your job to tend to my buttocks!"

Meg snatched the keys out of the ignition with a groan, "Damn, but I really should have left you at home," she muttered.

"Hey, I need you, you need me, so hop to it, bitch," Stewie snapped at her. She glared at him, "I mean, um, please?" he suggested.

"Let's get this over with..." Meg sighed, climbing out of the car.

"All I have to do to get attention is crap myself!" Stewie gloated, "Or maybe I could throw a tantrum, god only knows why because I'm a baby! Maybe I'm hungry or teething or maybe I just want some attention! Who cares; you're my bitch now, Megan!"

"Tell you what, Stewie," Meg smiled unpleasantly, "You don't throw any unnecessary tantrums... and I don't have to use this," she handed Brian a tape.

"What? What is that? What are you doing?" Stewie tried to see what was going on, squirming. Suddenly the horrible, discordant screams of AC/DC rang out by the roadside at high volume.

"OH MY GOD MEG, YOU'VE GOTTEN BRUTAL!" Brian screamed to make himself heard.

"DESPERATE TIMES CALL FOR DESPERATE MEASURES!" Meg screamed back at him.

"TURN IT OFF OH GOD TURN IT OFF!" Stewie screamed.

"THERE'S SOME LITA FORD ON THAT TAPE TOO, STEWIE!" Meg shouted above the noise.

"OH GOD! I KNOW THIS IS HURTING YOU AS MUCH AS IT'S HURTING ME, YOU EVIL BITCH!" Stewie screamed.

"SO ARE YOU GOING TO BE A GOOD BABY?" Meg screamed over the sound of heavy metal, trying not to give away her current agony from the dreadful 'music'.

"YES! YES!" Stewie screamed back, as she finished changing his diaper like she'd watched Lois do a million times.

"TAKE IT AWAY, BRIAN!" Meg screamed.

Brian gratefully ripped the tape out of the tape deck, and put in some classical music instead. Even Meg, who didn't usually listen to classical music, breathed a sigh of relief as she got back into the car with Stewie.

Brian hit the gas again, "So, uh, Meg... did you kill anybody else on your way out of Quahog?" he asked her, "You know... like that slut Connie and her cheerleading clique?"

"Nope," Meg replied, "Just Peter, Lois and Chris. I really needed to vent with them. It's not like I was doing it for fun," she paused, "Maybe once we're out of the country I can arrange a plan to go back and punish everybody who ever hurt me?"

"Maybe," Brian said doubtfully, "But you would probably wind up wiping out the best part of a town."

"And when I've finished in Quahog, we could head to LA and deal with Jack Nicholson and Kevin Costner..." Meg smiled suggestively and knowingly.

After a few seconds, between them they managed to get the car under control, "Your honour must be upheld!" Brian said finally. He looked at Meg, "Yeah, Peter and Lois are dead. Also Chris. When we get to Mexico we'll sort something out for everybody else. In the meantime... are you _sure_ you don't have any cigarettes?"

"I'm afraid not," Meg apologised, "I... well, I already did say about how I thought you'd just leave. And I don't smoke, so I figured it was a waste of money. Plus if I was going to be alone I'd be driving on my own so... yeah."

"Uh, guys, there's an off-ramp coming up," Stewie pointed out, "So Brian, you can get as drunk and wasted as you like in about 20 miles time. And from then on, it'll be happy driving for us all. Unless we drive off a cliff or something..." he paused, "My god, what if Brian drives us all off a cliff or something when he's drunk! I can't die! There's so many places I don't rule!"

"Like all of them?" Meg suggested nastily.

"One day you'll grovel, girl, oh yes, one day you'll grovel," Stewie sneered at her.

"God dammit, I could really use a cigarette..." Brian muttered, "And a drink..."

* * *

Breech: Hurrah! Everything's going to be okay! Who knows how many people are gonna die by the end of this fic? Maybe I'll pull off a nuke or something. Incidentally, I changed their destination to Laredo, rather than Tijuana because it's still a common border crossing but it's much close to Rhode Island.


	4. Roach Motel

Wipe The Slate Clean

By Breech Loader

* * *

Breech: Sorry for the long delay. It's just that there's been so many other things... I should really quit working on three or more fanfics at once... I'm glad though, that I've still got some work on this. I like Meg, and it's one thing to make somebody the show's Butt Monkey, but another to abuse them liberally.

So what happens next for Meg, Brian and Stewie? Why, they stop at a cheap motel, of course. Oh yeah, and I've also decided that why stop killing in the first chapter? Meg had better look out for the Giant Chicken...

* * *

Chapter Four: Roach Motel

"The Tee-Pee Motel," Brian, now dressed in a black leather coat and jeans, read the sign, a cigarette drooping in his mouth, "And it's got a bar, which is good because I need a drink," he looked accusingly at Stewie, who had endeavoured to remind him pretty much the whole way that he didn't have a drink.

"Now 'Roach Free," said Meg flatly, with Stewie in one arm, "Classy. Still, the cards still work, and while they work I'm pumping them." The three of them went to the front desk.

"Yes gentlemen, what would you like?" the secretary asked, barely looking up from her romance novel.

Meg sagged unhappily, and Brian saw it. Even killing the three worst people in her life would never convince Meg she was pretty – or even adequate – if people went on speaking to her like that. And he _really_ needed a drink.

He glared and put out his cigarette right through the book the secretary was reading, "Whoops," he said dryly, "Now, _miss,"_ he said more sharply as she looked up, "I and my... girlfriend... want a room with two single beds, okay?"

Meg smiled at that, "Just overnight," she added, and used Lois' credit card.

After taking the minimum required amount of luggage to their room, and changing Stewie and feeding him and doing their best to ignore his protests, the three of them went down to the bar – mostly on Brian's insistence. Fortunately the place was so low class that nobody made any comment at all on Stewie being there, sitting next to Meg.

"I just can't believe the last 24 hours," Brian commented to Meg, lighting a cigarette over a small brandy, "I mean yesterday, I had a whole family. Today there's just you and Stewie. Yesterday I was going to kill myself. I really was. Today, I hardly feel suicidal at all."

"Yesterday I was your normal, everyday 18 year old with a conventional rifle licence," Meg half-agreed, "Today I'm a killer headed for Mexico. With a baby who's supposed to be dead, and a talking dog, and four dead bodies behind me."

"You mean three," Brian pointed out mildly.

"Hey, I still count that Stewie android thing as a kill," Meg smiled. She had left the shotgun in her room, but it had been tucked carefully under the mattress. She hadn't wanted to risk leaving it on its own in the car even for a moment, "And thanks for being so nice at the desk."

"Yeah," Brian looked at his drink, and drank it quickly, "Meg, you're... you're not ugly. People aren't even mistaking you for a man. It's just that if you... well, you... you're always wearing those same clothes," he pointed, "They really don't do anything for you."

"Also you've got this metaphorical 'Kick Me' sign on your back," Stewie agreed.

"I didn't know clothes had anything to do with it," Meg replied, taking a sip of what she hoped was cola.

"Well, you know those cheerleader tarts back in Quahog?" Brian asked her, "Well before they go to school each morning, they spend two hours making themselves up. And that is too much... but you just pull on the first thing you see," he took her hand, "You really aren't ugly at all," he told her.

"You mean that?" Meg asked Brian hopefully.

"I think that with a little effort on your part, you could get any man you wanted," he paused, "But I advise against anyone in this bar," he added with a small smile.

Meg coughed a little on the circulating smoke, "Well, I'm just going to be in our room, making sure nobody steals our stuff," she told him, "You're smart, Brian, so just bring Stewie to bed when you think he's ready. And try not to get too sloshed."

She walked out of the bar alone and headed back up to the room they had rented for twenty-four hours. It was the shortest length of time you could hold a room for. Although of course you could _leave_ sooner, and many people did. She settled down to watch the television, which was coin-operated. Nothing on her, or Brian or Stewie. Of course, that meant nothing now that they were out of Quahog – Connecticut probably had its own serial killers and multiple murderers to advertise. And the cards were still working, so obviously the bodies hadn't been found because those cards wouldn't work after they were found dead.

Unless the cops were tracking her with them...

No, she was getting paranoid. She'd used them plenty of times, and if the cops had wanted to bring her in, they wouldn't have waited this long to pounce. She'd made sure not to do anything illegal. Well, not since the murders thing.

She didn't regret killing her 'family'. She had ended three lives and she didn't regret causing that end. Three family members who had abused and neglected her. At least Brian had the guts to apologise. But Stewie she wasn't so sure about. She might have to kill him, and she wasn't really looking forward to it. She sat on the edge of the bed, and started to undress and change into her nightdress, finally walking over to the balcony and staring across the landscape. Thoughtfully, she took the shotgun out from under the bed, and put it in its holster.

The landscape wasn't exactly the best thing to look at, but it was miles better than the dank room, and at least it was a clear night, even if it was only a half-moon out. A full moon would have been more romantic, but what did she have to be romantic about?

So she'd let Brian live. Well, he had said sorry, and that had been all she'd wanted to hear from any of them. And then she'd offered to take him with her. And he'd accepted. And he was being so _nice_.

_Am I really that desperate?_ she wondered, _He is a dog, after all._

_But he really is charming, and clever, and he looks so good in a tux, and WHY THE HELL AM I TRYING TO RATIONALISE HOW I'M FEELING?_

* * *

"I saw you watching her leaving," Stewie smirked up at Brian.

"Shut up," Brian pushed his drink towards Stewie, "Here, have some."

"You know what happened last time I got drunk," Stewie pointed out, "Oh no. I'm not letting this one go. I've got it now. You like dangerous women!"

"What?" Brian glared.

"You want to get screwy with the woman who killed her father, mother, and brother, and who held a shotgun to your head – twice!" Stewie said gleefully.

"Pft. I'm just going along with this so I can get a fresh start," Brian insisted.

"Yeah, right," Stewie sneered, "I may be sexually confused and an evil genius, but I'm not blind. You could walk away from Meg at any time. She's letting you do so if you wanted to. There's dozens of good reasons why. I mean, she's ugly, she's ignorant, she's boring..."

"She's _none_ of those things!" Brian hissed sharply despite himself.

"She's a dangerous murderer, she held a shotgun to your head twice, and she's killed your best friend, his wife and his son..." Stewie continued to list, watching Brian squirm.

"They had it coming!" Brian yelled back abruptly, "Like hell did they notice how bad I've been feeling for months! Like hell did they notice that I was ready to kill myself! Like hell did they notice anything except fucking and drinking!"

"By going along with her you're aiding, abetting, harbouring a fugitive, committing credit card fraud, and the kidnapping of a small baby..." Stewie leant back in his chair, "Just for a start."

"Not if we don't get caught!" Brian growled.

Stewie mentally noted the 'we', "And of course, she's still got that handy shotgun and the training, looks good with it, doesn't she?" he half-asked, "So she could easily kill another person."

"She won't," Brian insisted firmly, "Well..." he hesitated, thinking about all the people who had treated Meg like trash, and all the people he'd also quite like to see dead, "She might..."

"And you're going along with all of this just because you're her _friend_," Stewie finished smugly, "Come off it Brian, there are only two people you're fooling – yourself and her. Want to know what I would do?"

"No," Brian said bluntly.

"I'd go up to your room right now... and blow that bitch's head right off with the handgun you tried to kill yourself with," Stewie produced a handgun that Brian found very familiar indeed.

"You what... how did you... get this?" Brian stammered.

"Oh, I picked it up and reloaded it on my way out of the house. Thought it might come in handy," Stewie grinned and put it in Brian's hand, patting it, "Go on. Do the right thing. I'll come up behind you and watch."

Brian sighed and stuffed the gun into his inside pocket. Then he headed out of the bar and up to his room. He really should have knocked though, because Meg spun around from the balcony, pointing the shotgun at him again.

Brian's heart skipped a beat. Stewie was probably right that she might kill again – but he didn't want to shoot her just in case. Although this made it _three_ times she'd pointed that shotgun at his head. Besides, she had perfect gun control. He put his hands in the air hastily, "It's just me, Meg."

"Oh, Brian," Meg sighed in relief, "You gave me a shock. I'm sorry..." she holstered the gun again, "I guess I'm just kind of jumpy right now."

And perfect other things. Brian's eyes began to gravitate to other parts of Meg's body that had really come into shape over the last couple of years. How had he not noticed a body like that? The answer hit him like a sack of bricks – the clothes. Normally she wore clothes that made her look like a sack of potatoes. Right now she was wearing a nightdress that Lois must have bought for her a while ago – pink, lacy and very nearly see-through.

And the weirdest thing was that, because her self-esteem was so low, she had no idea of how good she looked in the moonlight.

"I just... I thought..." Brian tried to find his voice, "I figured I'd help you work out how we'll all be sleeping. I mean, there's two beds, but three people, except one of them is a dog and-"

"Brian, don't worry, I figured it all out," Meg replied, "I'll sleep in this bed, and you and Stewie can use the other. Look; Stewie sleeps at this end, and you sleep at the other end. No problems. Even if Stewie wets himself, you won't be bothered."

"Yeah... yeah, that's exactly what I had in mind," Brian sighed.

* * *

It was a couple of hours later now.

Brian hadn't been able to sleep. He hadn't even bothered to undress. At least Meg was asleep. Was he crazy? He stared at the filthy ceiling, imagining that he could hear the scuttle of cockroaches across the floor of the room. He could be back in Quahog right now...

_...in the police station, telling Joe about how he'd been smoking weed and contemplating suicide when he'd seen Meg finish off killing her family, then hold him at gunpoint, threaten his pathetic life, and spare it, and keep him from killing himself, then when he refused to come with her, she handcuffed him to Peter's corpse and left for Mexico..._

_And he'd be calling on his cousin Jasper – who, much as he loved him, could be incredibly annoying and he returned to Los Angeles and there were like, 500,000 writers in LA as it was and his chances of even getting a single article published were somewhere around zero..._

_And then a few days later, Meg was hunted down just a few miles from the Mexico border. And he was called as the sole witness to testify against her, as if his testimony was really needed to convict her, and he stood there and watched her sobbing in the stand, not for her crime, but for the unfairness of the world. The whole world against Meg Griffin..._

_And he listened complacently as the emotionally abused, 18 year old girl was given three consecutive life sentences, without parole..._

_He tried to visit her in prison, tried to say sorry. Upon seeing him, her first reaction was that she punched him so hard he lost a molar. She didn't want or need to see him, and he didn't blame her..._

_So he went back to LA, to his failure of a career where he was known as nothing more than a porn-director who had won a few tacky awards, and a wannabe script-writer, and now even Jasper didn't think much of him for how he'd testified against Meg after she'd spared his life, and there was too much tension so he just had to move out..._

_And one day, in an apartment that was little more than a kennel, he stared at the wall, trying to remember the last time somebody had smiled kindly at him. He picked up the cold metal device. He released the safety, and cocked the gun, and pressed it to the side of his head..._

Brian's eyes snapped open sharply. His heart was pounding from the dream, and he was shivering, and it was a few seconds before reality warmed him back up again. He'd drifted asleep for a moment there, but the dream had been vivid enough. He ran it over in his head, sitting up and on the edge of the bed. He wanted to be here. Not because it was his only choice, but because he wanted to be here. With friends and family.

Meg was sleeping in the other bed, facing his way – and with one hand still on that damn shotgun. He walked over to her bed, looking down at her. Without her glasses, she looked so much like Lois. Except without the same sadistic, machoistic tendencies and perverse sexual nature. Meg was so much more innocent.

Well, a little less innocent now...

He bent over just a little, and kissed her on the cheek, "I'm so sorry for all those times I hurt you," he said softly. On her bed, Meg stirred a little.

"Ah-HA!" Stewie laughed gleefully. Brian whipped around, "I knew it!" The baby was holding a video camera with an ominously blinking red light.

"Give me that camera, you little bastard," Brian hissed, trying to keep his voice low enough to not wake Meg as he hurried towards Stewie.

Stewie grinned and backed away, "Brian loves Meg..." he mocked the dog, "Just wait until this is all over YouTube! It'll have more hits than Peter's video of himself and Lois carefully naked while not actually showing anything!"

"I said give me that!" Brian made a dive for the camera, and missed.

"Or I could show it to Meg," Stewie mused, "I bet she'd just love to see the special goodnight kiss," he backed out onto the balcony, with Brian following him as quickly and also as quietly as possible – not an easy combination.

"No!" Brian whispered, "You know she'd get the wrong idea!"

"Or maybe she'd get the _right_ idea," Stewie said smugly. He held up the camera, and a few seconds of footage played back repeatedly. They would give any straight teenage girl the 'right' idea, "You know, this video could be worth a lot of money to the right people..."

"So... it's blackmail, is it?" Brian asked, growling softly.

"Blackmail _is_ such an ugly word," Stewie agreed, "How about the word 'extortion'?"

"Extortion's a good word," Brian admitted.

"But unfortunately completely inaccurate," Stewie said almost sadly, "Extortion is when I just..." he pulled out a baseball bat, "..._beat you until you give me what I want!_" He began whacking Brian on the back and shins.

"Damn!" Brian tried to roll with it and yelp in pain _quietly_, "Ow! Stop that! Okay, okay, blackmail it is!"

"Right," Stewie quit beating Brian, who groaned quietly, "Just remember I've got this tape okay? Meg sees it, and she knows you've been kissing her in her sleep. The cops see it, and suddenly you're not such an unwilling accomplice to a quadruple-murder, are you?"

"Oh, shut up, you little bastard," Brian told him, "I only kissed her cheek anyway."

"Why Meg, anyway?" Stewie asked with a sneer, "Some sort of cheap-ass substitute for Lois, huh?"

Unseen to them both, behind the balcony door, Meg was standing in her nightdress, trying to breathe regularly as she listened. Brian and Stewie had made quite a lot of noise, and it had woken her. She probably shouldn't be listening, but she was. She put one hand to her cheek thoughtfully.

"No," Brian said firmly, lighting up a cigarette, "I don't want to try and date another Lois. Besides, Meg's nothing like Lois."

"Yes. That's why I haven't killed her already."

"It's got nothing to do with that," Brian scowled, "First off, like I said, Meg's nothing like Lois. If I was looking for a Lois substitute, I'd hire a hooker and pay her to fuck me in a back alley. Second off... I don't have to justify myself to you, Stewie."

"I thought I was the one with the camera," Stewie smirked and waved it around a little, "Why Meg?"

"Okay," Brian took a deep breath, "You know what? Quagmire was right. I _am_ a pretentious, jumped-up, delusional, self-absorbed prick who thinks only of himself and never helps anybody. So I tried to kill myself. But Meg stopped me because she thought there was something in me that was worth saving, and you know what? It took her doing that for me to realise that she is a good person and I care about her, okay? Now fuck off."

"And not just the fact that she's finally got some T and A?" Stewie asked him mockingly.

"I said, fuck off!" Brian almost barked at him.

Stewie ran back into the room as Brian returned to staring at the landscape, and spotted Meg hovering by the door to the balcony. It was obvious from the look on her face that she'd heard quite a lot of what they had just said.

"Brian _likes_ you," he smirked, nudging her, before climbing back into his end of the single bed he was using.

Meg looked out around the door at Brian, who was still leaning on the balcony with his back to her. Was he... crying? She wanted to go and hug him, but that would mean not only admitting she'd seen him crying, but also that she'd heard everything else.

It was probably better, in the circumstances, to go back to bed. Maybe things would be better in the morning.

* * *

Breech: Yo! What will happen in the morning? Read and Review to find out!


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